Dancing and a Day Out

I should really stop procrastinating and write more. I'm rapidly falling behind. So, where did I leave off?

Ah yes, last Friday. Nearly a fortnight ago. Oops. Well, after purchasing my hula hoop, Laura and I finally gave in to Robin and Ellie's frequent invitations to join them, and we shuffled over to somewhere near Gloucester Road for the purpose of dancing.  Well, I say 'we'. Laura certainly came with me but, having somehow crippled her feet for the second time in a week, she struggled to walk as far as the venue and was in no position to actually dance. So, she watched and did some audit/tax-related homework whilst I had my first encounter with Ceroc. 

Ceroc is probably best described as a kind of Latin-style ballroom dancing. As a woman, it seems to largely involve being led around by the male partner, only vaguely remembering the moves and trying not to fall over as you are spun round and round again and again. It pretty fast-paced once you get going, not too complicated, and relatively easy to pick up (for the woman, anyway; the men have to learn all the moves properly, which a few seemed to struggle with). I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it, even if some of the music sounded like it had been stolen from the DJ on a SAGA cruise liner. I was a little concerned that I'd have a problems with being in such close proximity to strangers, particularly given my recent return to personal space issues, but it was generally okay. That said, some men could do with an friendly explanation as to the location of the waist on taller girls.
Still, it was good fun and I think I might adopt it as a hobby.

Skipping forward to Tuesday, it was both the remarkable (in many ways) return of the Boyd, and Laura's birthday. Slightly cash-strapped, she received from me a hula hoop of her own in pink and lime green, which I then decided to coat in silver glitter with Pritt Stick. This wasn't the brightest of moves, of course, as the flat is still covered in a dusting of the stuff. But never mind. I wrapped the thing in a whole roll of red paper. She opened it by smashing it over my head. 

There were also balloons, strawberry jelly in shot glasses, the latest Sherlock Holmes film, and a jaunt to Muswell Hill to fetch fish and chips from the rather excellent Toff's. On the way back I got heckled for driving too slowly by a cockney on bicycle with “Come on, my son!”. What a cockney was doing in north London, I'm not sure.

I actually ended up back at Toff's on Thursday night with Ellie, Laura, Nick and Robin. We went to a Ceroc class near Muswell Hill this time, and as it was a little nicer than Gloucester Road (and much closer) it looks like we'll be making a habit of it. Laura managed to join in too, and despite her initial misgivings, has proclaimed it to be 'The Best Fun Ever'. Then again, she does say that about quite a lot of things. Regardless, we raced up the hill en voiture afterwards for fish and chips, where we ate until nearly 11pm with some of us sat on a low wall, and others just on the pavement. We are quite classy sometimes.

On Friday morning I sauntered down to the Job Centre for my fortnightly chat and was pleased to find that the person I have to talk to is much more understanding and helpful than the one from last summer. He spent five minutes scrolling through a list of local jobs before declaring that I would not get any of them if I did apply and sending me on my way. I appreciate his efficiency. 

 

From there I headed immediately to Paddington and jumped on a train to Oxford. Enroute I passed a steam train, which saw me pressing my face against the glass like a child in a sweet shop.

I found Simon under the arrivals board, thoroughly distracted by a large pasty. A brief amble later and we found Leeanne curled up on a windowsill reading in the Classics section at Blackwells, having previously utilised the location for a nap. From there we went for lunch before visiting the Ashmolean Museum for japes. I would like to tell you about its contents in detail, but as I was in one of those moods where you just walk around looking at things without reading anything, I hardly feel qualified. I'll just say tthat the highlights for me included some Greek pottery I recognised, a copy of a statue that I got over-excited about, Lawrence of Arabia's clothes, a weaving game for children that had Simon enthralled and, most importantly, impressively tall automatic doors that went all the way up to the high ceilings over four metres above us.

When they kicked us out (we just about managed to refrain from sliding under a closing shutter whilst reaching back for our imaginary fedoras) we paid a visit to Jamie Oliver's restaurant nearby and were very impressed with the results. The price was reasonable, the food was delicious, and the service excellent (which probably explains the sizeable queue that was forming outside the door when we left). If you go, do have the chocolate brownie with raspberries and amaretto biscuit baked in. It's wonderfully decadent.
I sadly had to depart for my train at this juncture, but I had a lovely afternoon, and it was very nice indeed to hang out with my two very good friends. I look forward to the promised Nottingham barbecues when they move house.

 Once back in London, I went straight on to a pub near Mornington Crescent to rendezvous with Henry and Rose-Heather for an evening of German-orientated goth/rock/metal music. I will confess that I'm not terribly up on the German stuff, but it was still pretty enjoyable, even if it was a poor turnout and I initially felt a little out of place wearing no corset and no black at all. Ah well. It was great to catch up with the pair, and I'm hoping to hassle them more often now that they live quite close to me.

To finish the evening, I made friends with a Rastafarian man on rollerblades as I walked to get my bus home at 1am. He said that he liked my attitude, saw zeros everywhere, and was on the way to his 'office', which was apparently the entirety of Camden. You do meet some interesting people in London.

An Evening at the Museum, and a Party in the Park

I think that I'm going to endeavour to update this at least once a week. Clearly, I've failed this week, but I promise I'll try harder in the future. I'll try and make my posts shorter too. I'm also threatening to review every book I read once I finish it for writing practice, but I might yet do that in a new blog. We'll see.

Following my last post, Charlie came to visit for the weekend, bringing with her a batch of homemade, teeth-meltingly sugary penut cakey biscuit things. They're lovely, I should add, but to be consumed in moderation. We're still at it. Anyway, Saturday lunchtime provided a great opportunity to have lunch at The Angel Inn up in Highgate proper, which was actually very nice indeed (their tv screen with football on was quite small and shoved in a corner, which added to this). Later, Laura shuffled off with her beau to celebrate him finishing law exams or something, so Charlie and I settled down with pizza and a copy of Troy. Troy is one of the few historically-orientated films that I don't mind watching for some unknown reason (and not because it features Brad Pitt in a skirt, Orlando Bloom as Paris getting beaten up is more appealing, in honesty). This is in contrast to The Last Legion, of course, which makes me want to throw the television out of the window and beat the writers across the face with my shinai. 

But I digress. We had a tasty Sunday lunch in the Wagamama at Bond Street (we were aiming to have cream tea at the Wallace Collection, but didn't have the time), bought macaroons, cupcakes, and Nerds in Selfridges, and then parted ways. It was lovely, as usual, to see Charlie.

It was also a pleasant surprise to see Maggie and Michael on Sunday evening, where I had my second dinner of the day (I did not know how large the portions are at TGI Fridays, in my defence) and embarked with them on an epic walk from Covent Garden, to Trafalgar Square, back down the Strand, then down the Mall past Buckingham Palace and over to Victoria station where I hopped on tube home whilst they went to locate a coach. It was a nice evening for it.

Moving on, Monday evening saw the British Museum Friends evening. I attended two talks, one on body perceptions in ancient Greek society, and another on the statues within the Enlightenment gallery in the museum. The first of these was very much a lecture, and I am sorry to say that I was nodding off by the end of it. This wasn't due to the the subject matter, but the way in which the male speaker who talked for most of the duration read from a pre-prepared script. I think he looked up at the audience maybe half a dozen times in forty-five minutes, and the result was very dry and characterless indeed, which was a shame.

The second talk was given about the contents of the King's Library as we walked round it, and was decidedly more interesting. However it was the things that I saw in between the two events that were most fun. For example, there was a lady reciting the story of Persephone's abduction by Hades in one gallery. She knew the story by heart and threw herself into it, sometimes using a frame drum to add a bit of drama. It was very good and she had managed to draw quite a crowd. I wish I'd gone to listen to her, rather than the first talk, but we live and learn. Next time I'll go for the more creative stuff. Regardless, it was very nice to mosey about the galleries after hours. It was so much quieter than usual that it felt quite peaceful, and for once I could actually get near the Rosetta Stone and take my time reading item information without being jostled.

Skipping forward to Thursday, I found myself quite well occupied. Three o'clock saw me in the Hachette building near Warren Street once more for another job interview, this time for a marketing assistant position within Headline (last time I was there, it was sales). It went as well as most interviews seem to. Regardless, I was one of the last to be interviewed, and was emailed quite promptly the next morning with a rejection. Shocking. I do sometimes wonder if I largely get rejected because I let too much of my personality bleed out in interviews. I suspect that I'm unnecessarily prolix, jumping from thought to thought out loud in a manner that suggests I'm deranged or, at the very least, scatter-brained. Or perhaps it's just my previously mentioned struggle to show enthusiasm. I am rather introverted of late, and I worry that it's beginning to become apparent to strangers. I shall have to work on that. I like to blame it all on my minimal experience, however, so hopefully once I've done my internship at the BM, I'll do better. Still, it's probably for the best that I didn't get the job, as then I'd have had to turn down the internship, and that would have been devastating. 

Anyway, moving back to Thursday, I went straight from the interview to Regent's Park for a Laura's pre-birthday party. I had to wait around for everybody else to show up, clutching bags of cake and Pimms like an alcoholic fatty near the children's playground. I did get some funny looks. Still, there was a fun afternoon had (including over-candled caterpillar cake), and I got pretty wasted on about four glasses of strong Pimms and a small amount of cider. I'm sure Laura's work colleagues appreciated me gleefully ruffling their hair. 

Lovely as it always is to see people from London, it was a particular treat to see Rachael Cartlidge and Pippin, who stayed with us on Thursday night and accompanied me on a jaunt to Camden the next day before running off again. I was mainly in Camden looking for a nice-but-reasonably-priced parasol. I didn't find one. I am not paying £35 for some lace on a bamboo stick. So instead, I went to Oddballs circus/juggling shop and splashed out on a hula hoop. Oh yes! What stripy glory! It fluoresces! It's fun! It even comes apart to be twisted down to half its full size!

Of course, it turns out that I'm pretty average at hulaing now that I'm no longer eight years old. And these adult circus hoops are heavy. I think mine weighs about half a kilo, and when you get it up to speed you do feel it. I got over-enthusiastic the next day and now have light bruising around my midriff and angry brown marks on my hipbones. Oops. It has not put me off though, and as I have not yet destroyed the television with my efforts, I shall persist in looking like I'm having seizures whilst I practise. Laura's getting into it too, and wants her own so that we can hula together on the lawn round the back of the flats. It's fortunate, then, that it's her birthday tomorrow...

And that's enough for now. I shall let you know why I spent most of Friday night spinning on the spot in my next blog.

Oh, and if anybody noticed Boydy's absence, it's because she's still at terminal velocity, in her underwear, in Spain. Yes.

Our cheese expenditure is way down for the month.